Imagine
by theeflowerchild
Summary: AU. It's 1967, The Summer of Love; the times, they are changing and this is a whole generation with a new explanation. The parents can go on thinking they're the children of the devil and the children will go on rebelling; rebelling for peace, civil rights, freedoms, music and love, most of all. Sasuke will not be his parents; he will fall for the girl with the flowers in her hair.


He felt like he was going to regret this day before it even came.

It started off just like any normal day; his alarm clock blared a soft folk tune that he knew his parents would disapprove of, forcing him to roll out of bed into the warm, humid, summer air. He lifted up his heavy window and allowed the smell of the roses his mother plants every spring and the musk of his brother's recreation that he doesn't quite mind float into his room and fill his nostrils.

He sat on his mattress for ten minutes or so, waiting for the clock to strike ten-exactly, and just let the lulling music fill his room, the music his mother constantly begs him not to listen to. He took in the smell of all things natural, some things forbidden, dug his toes into the maroon, shag carpeting and let his hand fall against the button on the alarm. He lifted himself from his comfortable bed, made it to the perfection his parents expect, opened his heavy, oak door and began his walk toward the kitchen for breakfast.

As if on cue, his older brother fell into the hallway, long hair tied into a low ponytail and glassy eyes glazed over with addiction. A loopy smile played as the elder bid his brother a, "good morning," and then claimed the bathroom as his own for the next half an hour or so.

He already heard his mother ranting to his father in the kitchen, over old traditions and an older brother they expected so much from, and plates gently clinking against a wooden table, just like every other morning. He viewed a hideous, orange, yellow and green kitchen, with brown, marble counter-tops and the _latest_ in cooking technology, as his father likes to put it. His parents didn't even bother acknowledging him as he sat in his predetermined seat, spooned a helping of eggs onto his plate and bid them a, "Good morning."

There was silence while his mother quieted herself on his arrival—because this is her son and yelling in front of him is _bad parenting—_only to burst a few seconds later.

"He did it again last night!" his mother yelled, finally sitting in her own seat at the table, done with cooking breakfast. "Can you believe it? Right in our own backyard! Has he no _shame?"_

His fathers sighed, nose deep in the morning newspaper. "Actually, I _can_ believe it—"

"He's been home from college for, what, a _month? Two,_ at most!?" she began frantically spooning her eggs onto her own plate. "And look what San Francisco has done to him! Just _look!_ Four years of a damn good education, can't get a job and smokes pot all day in the backyard!"

The same conversation for the past month, he mused to himself. Always about big brother, his marijuana, his search for a job and—

"And that—that—that _slut_ he brings home every day! Who in the Lord's name is that hippie-dippy _weirdo!?"_

—his girlfriend, of course. A pretty little thing with golden hair down to her butt, always in a high pony-tail, ocean-blue eyes, belly shirts and the shortest shorts imaginable. He liked her enough, she was friendly and perfectly capable of holding a conversation; a college graduate with a job at his high school and a little bit of an addiction to, what was it? Cocaine?

His father turned to him, ignoring his mother, and offered a weary smile. "Good morning, Sasuke. Remember Sasuke, sweetheart? Your other son?"

His mother shot his father a glare and offered the sickliest, sweetest smile she could form on her lips to her little angel. "Of course I do, dear. He's the only son we have left."

He cringed. "Mother, please—"

"Oh, don't worry about it, little brother," like clockwork, his older brother interrupted, "Mother just doesn't understand that the times are changing. This is not the fifties and I am not her little baby."

"Listen, Itachi—" But he was cut off.

"And yet, you are still living under _my roof!" _His mother yelled as his father rolled his eyes. "Why don't you do something with your life, Itachi?"

"You act as if I'm not trying." He grabbed a piece of fruit from a bowl on the counter. "As you know, I cannot start my teaching job until _school starts_, mother."

"What about the army, Itachi?" his mother asked as if it is a "sudden revelation," like always, begged. "It's beginning to seem like the only option!"

His brother chuckled lowly, his normal reaction; a dark sort-of reply to his mother never listening to any of his morals, feelings, thoughts, ideas. "You know as well as I do we have no place in Vietnam and I will fight until my last breath to—"

"I don't want to hear _any_ of your stupid, hippie-jargon in _my_ kitchen, young man!" she yelled, already beginning to clean up the breakfast she made in a fit of rage and annoyance at a son that had become what all parents fear. "This is why you need to clean up your damn act! I'm sick and tired of what you've become! It's—It's a sin!"

He raised an eyebrow at his oh-so religious mother. "What's a sin?"

"You!" she yelled in the climax of her rage; always the same accusation: Itachi, you're a _sin_. You're going to _hell_. The Lord shall _smite you_. "All you do is smoke the devil's drug, sit in your room and listen to that rock and roll, hallucinate, and fuck that slut under _my roof!"_

"I've never had a sexual experience in this house, mother, I'm more respectful than that, nor have I taken acid in my room," he explained, as usual. "I will admit that I do what I do, I have no shame, but I do not do it in the home. You may want to watch your tongue, mother; you should respect your own kind. A woman is not a slut, she has every right to her own body, and it's women like you that give such an idea a bad name—"

"I've had enough!" his mother screamed as a finale, throwing a dish towel onto the floor and turning red at her son's strong civility in every argument. "Just leave! Go and do whatever it is you do! I don't care anymore! _I don't care!"_ She does, though, and she will start the same fight the next time Itachi decides to actually sleep at the house.

"I will, mother." He took a bite out of his apple and rolled his eyes to his little brother, a silent connection between the two that their mother has grown to despise.

"I'm going out," Sasuke decided, like always, to escape this hell he calls home and commandeered the shower for almost forty-five minutes in hopes of drowning his sorrows in steam and soap rather than pot and rock and roll.

* * *

**Imagine**

theeflowerchild

1. I Love the Flower Girl

* * *

"_I saw her sitting in the rain, rain-drops falling on her. She didn't seem to care, she sat there and smiled at me and I knew that she could make me happy; flowers in her hair, flowers everywhere! I love the flower girl; oh, I don't know just why, she simply caught my eye. I love the flower girl, she seemed so sweet and kind, she crept into my mind..._

_I love the flower girl, is she reality, or just a dream to me?"_

—The Cowsills, 1967.

* * *

Sasuke does not hate what his brother has become. Far from it, actually; he almost envies it.

His brother is a counterculture; his views are strong, almost palpable, unbreakable and so liberal. He knows if the circumstance ever came up, his brother would die a martyr for whatever tribulations would befall him. Meanwhile, he sits Indian-style, preaching his beliefs with an education behind him—something his parents (his mother) sometimes forgets—smoking marijuana, dissolving tabs of acid, making love to his girlfriend and listening to the _devil's music_.

Listening to Rock and Roll.

Another thing Sasuke does not hate: rock and roll. It's alluring; the lyrics are honest, the riffs are addictive, the beats are rhythmic perfection and the musicians are influential. The times, they are changing, and rock rolls with his generation just as quickly as the teenagers do; like his brother says, it's not the fifties anymore, and the teenagers of this day and age have a new explanation. Everything moves so quickly and it's just as enslaving as the drugs they all do, this counterculture.

The parents, they do not understand; they grew up in a different time, where you hung on your parents' every word and definition of life. You were to become what you were told, listen to the music you were fed and read the books you were assigned. There was barely a generation gap, because you were to become the people who raised you. When music started changing, when the term rock and roll was coined, when lyrics were no longer about a girl, but about peace, drugs and war, when clothing suddenly became loose, brown, sometimes nonexistent and hair started reaching hips, no matter the gender, the adults had no idea what to make of it. They did not understand why their sons and daughters were under the influence, why they were swaying their bodies, barefoot on the grass to acoustics that made no sense to them.

So they fought. They claimed their children to be of the devil, the music created by Satan himself and the drugs grown out of hatred. Parents did not realize the aim was the opposite; all his generation wants is for peace to be given a chance, for war to come to a close and for everybody to love one another. Everybody should be able to do their own thing and not be judged, stereotypes should lift and children should be gifted with educations.

Sasuke's parents befell a stereotype he did not like, but had grown used to. Slowly, his brother's hair reached his hips, his clothes because suede, loose, his eyes because bloodshot and his music became loud and unorganized. His morals changed, his political stance differed and he was not afraid to stand up for himself. His brother was his role model, but something he swore he'd never become; not for himself, but for his parents.

In truth, Sasuke pined to be just like his brother: unruly, unkempt, natural, a lover, a pacifist with a smile on his face and no judgment in his heart and the hope that someday the world would live as one.

Until then, Sasuke will dress as his parents tell him to, listen to rock and roll in secret, never touch a drug to the knowledge of his parents, preach the beliefs of a conservative, acquire an education, more than likely join the army and fight in a war he wishes he could fight against and bring home a girl with the hopes of becoming a wife and nothing more, minus the education of books like, "The Feminine Mystique."

Sasuke will not bring home a girl like Ino, with an education beyond her wildest dreams, a warm demeanor and a future unlike an other. He will not bring home a girl that will fight against sexism, against a war and acquire and job like a "man," dance barefoot in a park with a blunt in one hand and a flower in the other. He will please his parents. He will disregard his brother.

He was always the good son.

* * *

Finally done with his shower, he began walking back toward the kitchen; by now, his brother should have left for his girlfriend's house or a rally, his father to work and his mother should be sitting in the kitchen reading or phoning her close friend, talking about _where she went wrong_ or _why couldn't her son just serve his country like every other boy his age?_

"Mother?" he called out when he saw no body in the kitchen, window still open wide to clear out the smell of breakfast.

He heard a quiet sigh from the living room. "I'm in here, sweetheart."

He pursed his lips, deciding if he should go in their and acknowledge her—he knew if he began a conversation with her, somehow, it'd turn to his older brother and she would continue on speaking for an hour—and thought against it. "I'll be leaving now, mom. I probably won't be home 'til late."

"Alright, be careful!" she yelled and then added, "Don't do anything stupid!"

He mumbled, "No promises," softly to himself. He slipped into his loafers at the door and turned back slightly, debating if he should call his friend before popping up at his house unexpected. It wasn't really a problem if he did, his parents were probably not home anyway, but it was quite early for a Saturday morning and odds were he wasn't awake.

Fishing into his pocket, he scoured for a quarter—like most homes, he was expected to drop a quarter in the mason jar for every call he made to help with the phone bill—to no avail. With a sigh, he made his way out the door; his friend was only a block down, anyway; if he were not there, he could always board the subway down to first street...

Not to his mother's knowledge, of course.

Like every morning, the streets were littered with children; across the road, one of his neighbors had a hose going to cool down the kids on the block, as always. Children were running in their bathing suits, parents chatting toward the tip of the driveway. He saw a few kids his age sitting down on the curb a little farther down, girls dressed in corduroy and blouses, smoking cigarettes and laughing. He was only slightly familiar with them, one being the little sister or cousin or something of a boy he used to be close with—what was her name? Hinata?

What was _his_ name, for that matter?

He sighed dejectedly; one his mother saw the boy had grown his hair down to his hips, he wasn't allowed to interact with him anymore. It was hard for him, they were fairly close at the time and his mother hadn't been exactly nice to the kid.

Upon arrival at his friends house, Sasuke was surprised to see a car home; a hideous, maroon Ford he wasn't too familiar with. It wasn't normal for his friend's parents to be at the house, they both worked almost constantly and when they were home, it wasn't until very, very late.

He shrugged; maybe it was a family member visiting that his friend had forgotten to tell him about. He strolled up the driveway anyway, taking his time, and saw that the kitchen lights were on, thankful that at least _somebody_ was awake. When he finally made it to the doorway, he wrapped loudly on it with his knuckles, just in case his idiot friend _was_ asleep.

"I'm coming!" he heard the familiar rasp of his friend's voice, slightly muted by the sound of chewing. The door flew open to reveal his friend already dressed; blond hair messy from sleep, a shirt of bright orange covered by a suede, shag vest and bell-bottom, denim jeans. "Hey, candy-ass, what brings you here on this fine, summer morning?"

He rolled his eyes. "We had plans, you flake, remember?"

The blonde pouted in reply. "Hang loose and take that stick out of your ass, would you, bastard?"

"I'll do that when you stop being stupid, Naruto," he reasoned sarcastically, walking into the house when Naruto began stepping away from the doorway. Remembering the car on the driveway, he asked, "What's with the circus wagon?"

"My mom's sister's daughter is in town," he explained as both entered the kitchen. "For the rest of the summer; she's from Queens, you know," Sasuke found a place on the stool against the bar, Naruto fishing through his cabinets for two glasses. "Over in Astoria. They're a little stricter there, I guess. My Aunt caught her with pot or acid or something and sent her here as punishment, but that's kind of stupid, because my mom is super neat and whatever and doesn't really care what we do—"

"Yeah, yeah, I don't need your damn life story." A glass of water was placed in front of him, the blonde sat one chair over. "She's here until school starts?"

"Not sure, man, I think so, but could be longer; she's pretty cool," he began, "Does a lot of pot, I guess, but doesn't everyone? She's really, really smart—"

He cut him off, "Rocks are _really, really smart_ compared to you."

"—Quiet, dip stick, I'm talking. _Anyway_, she's super smart and like, around our age and I'm almost positive I've never seen her wear shoes." He laughed. _"Ever."_

"Sounds like Itachi," Sasuke added. "Except, you know, a chick."

He shrugged. "She's pretty far out, but pretty choice, too. She's in the shower, I guess you can meet her when she comes out." He suddenly started laughing. "Man, your mom still has you dressing for church, doesn't she?"

Sasuke looked down at his outfit choice; beige slacks—Ivy Leaguers, as Naruto liked to call them—and a black polo. He pursed his lips. "Believe me, I'm getting sick and tired of her bullshit, too, but Itachi has her going through all this crap and whatever—"

"Man, you're your own person, you need to stick it to the man—er, woman and be your own being!" he yelled triumphantly, throwing his fist in the air. "Go in my room and at least put on a pair of jeans. I can't be seen with you."

He rolled his eyes, but stood nonetheless, off to steal his friend's clothes, per usual. Maybe one day he'd finally buy his own pair of jeans or, at least, a t-shirt.

He wrinkled his nose upon opening his friend's door; it always smelled like tobacco, not that his own mother cared or even that Sasuke himself cared, just that it was something he was unused to. He fished through a pile of clean clothes on his friend's floor and threw on a pair of Naruto's denims, a plain t-shirt and a suede vest with a fringe that he constantly stole from him—one day, he'd probably just end up taking it. He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing his cowlick, and decided that he looked less like a dork and a little more choice.

With another sigh—he found himself in a constant state of sighing, lately—he opened the door only to be greeted by a flurry of pink and a loud thump. A voice like bells spoke, numbing his mind. "Whoa, man, it's a free country and whatever, but watch out—people can be flying anywhere, any time."

He looked toward the floor and saw a girl no older than himself, bottle-cap-green eyes the size of flying saucers gazing up at him confusedly, obviously because he was an unfamiliar face in an already unfamiliar home. Her skin was the color of peaches and cream, still considerably pale, but bordering on tan from days out in the sun, flushing color to her cheeks and staining her bare arms. Her hair was, of all colors, pink and far past her waist, parted down the middle and naturally wavy; yellow flowers, feathers and braids littered the length. Her beige, knee-length skirt fluttered around her, beads and feathers of her necklaces reaching her bare stomach in colors of blues, greens, pinks and browns. Her chest was covered by a scant, black t-shirt that barely reached the tip of her navel, obviously too small, but obviously purchased for that purpose.

He felt his heart stop.

"Uh, whoa, do you live here or something?" she asked confusedly. "Am I like, hallucinating? I thought Kushina only had one son."

He couldn't speak, mouth dry.

"Hello, earth to the oh-so-stereotypical-hunk, got a name? Or, like, a soul?" she questioned, gathering herself up on her feet. She dusted off the nonexistent dirt from her fall. "Do you speak English?"

"I, uh, me?" he stuttered, pointing a finger to himself and blushing crimson at the notably sarcastic _hunk_ comment.

"He speaks!" she yelled, throwing her arms up in the arm, bangles jingling against one-another. "And English, thank Krishna! I'll ask again, got a name?"

"I—I'm Sasuke." He swallowed hard.

She thought for a second before offering a cheeky grin. "Groovy. Names Sakura," she hugged him tightly, ignoring boundaries. When she let go, she was still smiling the friendliest smile he had ever seen, despite the fact that she had no idea who he was. He couldn't tell if he liked that or thought her incredibly naïve. "Like, how did you get in here?"

He finally found the part of his brain that allowed him to function like a proper human being. "Um, I'm Naruto's friend. You must be his cousin?" he knew she was, but he asked anyway.

"True, true," she told him. "What were you doing in his room?" She began walking down the stairs, obviously expecting him to follow.

He did, like a lost puppy, but he reasoned that he had to get back downstairs somehow. Before he could even answer she said, "Never mind, you don't have to answer," before again saying, "It's a free country."

He didn't, deciding he didn't want her to know that his mother dressed him in polo's and Ivy Leaguers and he had to borrow normal clothing from his friend.

When they entered the kitchen, Naruto hadn't moved from his spot, offering a grin to both. "I guess you met her all on your own, bastard! She's pretty copacetic, isn't she?"

"Oh stop it, you, you're making me blush," she commented sarcastically, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with fresh orange juice on the counter. "I assume you have plans then, today?"

"Yeah, we're going to get some new album Sasuke wants," Naruto explained, swiveling in circles on the stool.

"Oh, man, far out!" She put her glass down, giving them both her full attention. "Rock and roll!"

"Is there any other?" Sasuke commented, but he knew full well that if his mother ever saw the amount of albums he harbored under the genre, he'd be in for a slapping.

"What're you picking up?" she asked, taking a sip of her juice.

"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely—"

"Beatles fan?" she questioned.

He nodded vigorously. "They're only the best; my brother took me to see them at Shea a few years ago. Best experience ever—"

"No fucking way!" she screeched, cutting him off, careful not to drop her glass as she threw her arms up. "Me too! Went with a few friends—nearly got murdered by the old man. Totally worth it."

Sasuke found himself grinning. "Have you heard the album yet?"

"Not yet, man, you'll have to lend it to me?" she questioned hopefully, eyes widening slightly.

"Definitely," he agreed with a small smile.

She grinned in return. "Co-pa-ce-tic," she let each syllable fall off her thin mouth, her tongue clicking against her bottom lip. It nearly sent shivers down his spine. "Are you guys up for a drag later?"

Sasuke knew she didn't mean cigarettes.

Naruto shrugged. "Whatever. Won't your parents be pissed?"

"Will your mom tell?" she replied.

"Probably not, even she's even home," he told her. "Just keep it to the backyard?"

"Like I'd _ever_ smoke in the house." She looked almost offended. She almost reminded Sasuke of his brother.

"Neat." Naruto's cerulean eyes fell on his friends. "I know you don't smoke, don't feel obligated. Ain't no thing, man."

Sasuke shrugged. "I'm game, I guess."

The blonde raised an eyebrow in return. "What about your mom?"

He snorted. "What about her?"

Sakura laughed lightly, grinning. "I'll catch you guys later, then." She grabbed her glass from the counter and walked toward the screen door to sit on the porch, minus the shoes, to his amusement.

When she finally left, his friend spoke. "You alright there, dude?" Naruto asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sasuke nodded his head. "I'm fine, why?"

"I dunno, man, maybe because your eyes are glued to the damn door?" He pursed his lips. "Meet me outside when you've decided you're done staring at my cousin." He made a disgusted sound, adding, "groady," for a lasting effect before leaving via the front door.

Sasuke stood for a second longer in his friend's house with a small, dreamy smile on his face. When he was about to make his way toward the door, he noticed a yellow flower resting on the floor, fully intact from the hair of the girl he could not peel himself from.

He gently picked it up, depositing it into the pocket of his jeans before walking toward the door.

He already knew that this could not end well.

* * *

**Firstly, the story is set around 1967, the year Sgt. Pepper's came out.**

**I love the sixties and I'm trying to make this as authentic as possible. Sakura is like the forbidden fruit, you know? Don't get offended by my drug references, it's rated M for a reason. They're there for authenticity. **

**Hare Krishna was part of a religion that was often confused with the hippie movement of the sixties and eventually became intertwined with it. George Harrison from the Beatles was an avid believer in Krishna; he wrote a song called "My Sweet Lord." Check it out, it's pretty groovy.**

**Choice means quality or cool. Ivy Leaguers are like, parochial school pants. Copacetic means cool. Neat means cool. Far out and groovy are terms that can mean cool or neat. A candy-ass is a wimp/pussy/baby. A circus wagon is a crap car. I think I acknowledged most of the slang, but if you have any more questions, just put them in the reviews. Dude back then meant like, a dork or a loser. Groady is short for grotesque.**

**I'm going to have _a lot of fun_ writing this. Hippie culture fascinates me beyond belief; the music is fantastic, the morals are beautiful and everything they stand for is breathtaking. **

**Please review! I really do appreciate them and they make me super happy; especially if you're going to favorite or follow the story, a simple "good" or "ew" would suffice. Thank you so much for reading!**

**I do not own Naruto or "(I Love) The Flower Girl," by The Cowsills. Check out the song, though!**

**Peace.**


End file.
